Of Leo and Lily
by teachmehowtofall
Summary: Coffeeshop AU, oneshot: He loves her ridiculous coffee experiments and her inability to admit that there is no way that hazelnut and almond could work in any combination, and he tries all of her concoctions, even the truly awful ones, because she turned the place from his escape into his haven and he will forever be grateful for that.


He is literally reaching behind his back to untie his apron springs because it is _finally_ time to close—good _God_ , he hadn't realized how much work this would be—when a girl storms in like a hurricane, getting mud and snow all over his _just swept_ floor and he watches in horror as she rips the beanie off her long dark red hair and collapses onto a bar stool.

"Er—" he starts, but she is already speaking.

"Look, I'm really sorry and I know this is an awful thing to do because you're about to close and I'm so sorry but can I please please _please_ have whatever kind of coffee has the most caffeine because this has been possibly the worst day of my life, like a _three-flavor-shots_ kind of bad day and I—I can make it myself, if you want, I used to be a barista in high school or I can help you close—actually I would love to do that because I have a very great need to clean something but I currently have an even greater need for coffee so—please?"

And then she's staring up at him with bright green eyes—and seriously are those real because _no one_ has eyes that green—and he gives a beleaguered sigh before retying his apron, measuring out espresso, pumping three different flavors into a cup. "What kind of milk?"

"You know what? Whole milk. Whole. Milk. Take that, Petunia. Who needs your stupid _bridesmaids diet_ , not me."

He quietly pulls another shot of espresso for her, starts steaming the milk, debates adding in a fourth flavor before deciding against it: this combination of vanilla, white chocolate, and caramel has been tested extensively and he doesn't want to mess up this latte because it might push this girl over the edge and he's a little afraid of what would happen if she lost it. She looks rather dangerous.

He places the steaming mug in front of her, complete with actually the best foam leaf he's ever made, and regrets for a moment she doesn't look like the type to instagram her coffee because it's honestly _beautiful_.

She looks up from the tangle of limbs and outerwear her head is resting upon. "Thank you," she says, with such sincere gratitude in her voice that he forgets for a moment to resent her for making him close even later than he ordinarily would.

There is a moment of silence, and then: "I know you don't know me but if I don't start talking about this I'm going to start screaming about this so—God, how dare she? How dare she kick me out of her wedding? Not that I wanted to be involved in the wedding of those two, because I hate him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, but how dare she kick me out of her wedding when all I was trying to do was make sure she was _happy_ with him?"

"I—yes, that's awful," he says feebly, but she's already moved on.

"Like, _sorry_ for wanting to check up on you, it's not like I'm your _sister_ , or anything, it's not like I _care about you_ , or want to make sure he's not abusing you, or that you actually want to marry him and you're not just doing it because everyone expects you to, because that's a _great_ reason to get married! And yeah, okay, so I probably could have not called him an asshole disguised as a whale, but it's not like I'm _wrong_ , because he _is_ , oh and also he's probably going to make you give up any of your dreams you might have had as soon as you sign the marriage license, because he's actually a devil sent from the 1950s to _ruin my sister's life_."

He gives in and starts brewing himself a cup of coffee because it looks like she's just getting started.

"... _and_ he has that god-awful mustache, _and_ he thinks women are only good for childrearing, like our whole gender can be reduced to a baby-making machine, which is _stupid_ because Petunia would make a _terrible_ mother; she'd spoil the hell out of any child she might have because she's so damn afraid of confrontation..."

He debates over a cinnamon mocha or an almond one before deciding against both and going with a salted caramel latte instead.

"... _how dare she_ type me this stuffy little note on _personalized wedding stationary_ , what the actual..."

No, he definitely needs another shot in this. Preferably of alcohol, but he'll make do with espresso.

"... _typed_ , what the hell, Petunia, really great passive-aggressive way to keep your distance from your sister, _whatever_..."

He's vaguely insulted she hasn't even tried her coffee yet, it took him a long time to balance those flavors just right and now it's gone cold.

"...'not welcome at the wedding' _like I even wanted to go_..."

He starts sweeping because if he doesn't start now he might as well not close at all, honestly, it's almost two in the morning and he has to have the place open by eight, so in other words he wants to _die_.

"...but the worst part is that she's going to blame it all on me, 'oh, Lily? Well, she always was so jealous of my good fortune' with one of those prissy little _sniffs_ , 'you know she _still_ doesn't have a boyfriend, mum's been despairing over her since she was seventeen,' like I need a boyfriend to have a life, Petunia, just because you don't have enough imagination to live happily without one..."

He notes sadly that her foam has long since been crushed, and it had been such lovely foam, too.

"...you know what? I'm going to go anyway and eat all her cake and open all her presents and—and—get roaring drunk with Marlene—and—and—"

And now she's crying, these great heaving sobs that he thought only existed in awful chick flicks but apparently are based on fact, so he pats her gently on the back, pulling a tissue box over and passing her one.

"Sorry," she finally chokes out, coughing and spluttering a little before sucking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I didn't mean to unload like that, and god, it's so late and you probably have to be here early to open I'm so sorry—look, I don't have anything in the morning, let me come over and help you out. It's the least I can do."

He stops, stares at her because he wasn't really expecting that, and then sighs, exhausted, and smiles tightly at her. "You said you worked in a coffee shop?"

She wipes her eyes, nods. "Yeah, it was called Brew-Ha-Ha, because the owners were a giant joke and loved puns."

"Can you be here at 7:30?"

She nods again, smiles, jams her beanie back on her head, and heads out the door.

He's surprised to realize that he hopes she'll show up.

She's there waiting at 7:15 when he arrives, and she's—she's holding two cups of coffee. "Salted caramel, right?" she asks.

He unlocks the door, holds it open for her. "You were paying attention to that?"

She shrugs, hands him the cup. "Spatial awareness. My dad was a cop."

He notes the use of the past tense but doesn't say anything other than "thank you" before showing her where everything is.

When he's done explaining and hands over the spare apron, she's looking at him sheepishly. "I—we didn't—er—I'm Lily," she finally stammers out, and he laughs.

"I forgot we didn't introduce ourselves. I'm Regulus," he replies, sticking out his hand on reflex. She shakes it, and he's impressed with her handshake.

"'A strong handshake means you're a strong person,'" she says with a smile, as if quoting someone. He wonders if it's the past-tense police officer of a father, but instead nods and starts restocking as she takes the first customer.

He keeps an eye on her, but he can't afford to hover, nor does he need to. She's an excellent barista, cheerful but not obnoxious, efficient but not curt.

At the end of the morning rush, when it's almost completely dead, he glances at her. "I feel like I missed an opportunity to tease you about not thinking my coffee was good enough." He nods at their barely-touched lattes—they hadn't had any time to drink them before the rush started.

"No, it was great, but I used to open and I knew there was never any time to make yourself coffee before people started pouring in," she replied, quirking a smile.

He smiles in return. "In all seriousness, though, are you looking for work? My last employee graduated in December and left for grad school. I haven't found anyone to take his place yet and—oh my _god_ , are you drinking that _cold?_ "

She glances at the coffee she'd brought that morning, then at him. "I like coffee in all its forms, including completely stone cold because I didn't get a chance to drink it."

"You, Lily, are lucky I'm desperate for a competent employee or I would be recalling that job offer right now."

She slowly sets the cup back down. "What hours?"

"Morning rush would be great, and whatever other hours you can do."

"I can do all day, if you think you can put up with me," she offers. "I'm... in between, right now."

He doesn't pry—she doesn't look like she wants to talk about it—and says, "If you think you can put up with me."

They shake on it, and then the mid-morning rush begins and they don't get a second to breathe before two in the afternoon.

By the end of the day, he knows she's new to the city, taking (at least) a semester off from college, had just turned 21, and, of course, has an awful relationship with her sister.

In the following days, she learns that he's turning 24 in August and had refused to take over the family business in favor of opening this coffee shop, and he's surprised he's told her that much because he never told Snape anywhere _near_ this amount of information, and Snape had worked for him for two years.

But Snape wasn't easy to talk to, and Lily is. He forgets to be guarded around her, forgets that he doesn't want anyone he knows to come find him here, forgets that he hadn't wanted to let anyone in. Friendship is _easy_ with her, and he's surprised to realize he likes it.

At some point she even convinces him to get a cat, saying it adds character to the place, and because she's an absolute _brat_ she names it Simba (he hates that she loves astronomy, but he loves that she loves it too), and when she takes it to the vet to get its shots she returns with it shaved to resemble a lion and he glares but she just laughs and laughs until finally he laughs too.

He just—he loves that she's there, every morning, at 7:10 so they can have a couple minutes to drink coffee and chat before they plunge into the morning rush, he loves that she connects with the customers in a way that he never could, he loves that she's slowly taking charge of decorating until the shop has gone from beige and brown to something homier and cozier with splashes of burnt orange and olive green and golden yellow and deep red that all fits together somehow. He loves that her friends drop in just to hug her tightly and see how she's doing—fierce Marlene and laughing Mary and gentle Alice—and eventually they start to ask him how he's doing too, checking in with the same quiet and unobtrusive concern they give to Lily. He loves her ridiculous coffee experiments and her inability to admit that there is no way that hazelnut and almond could work in any combination, and he tries all of her concoctions, even the truly awful ones, because she turned the place from his escape into his haven and he will forever be grateful for that.

And when Bellatrix walks in and he shoves Lily into the front without any kind of explanation, he loves that she seamlessly switches from stocking to serving without so much as a flutter of an eyelash to show that she's completely discomposed and confused. Bellatrix leaves with an dark chocolate cappuccino and no idea that Regulus is in charge of this cozy, autumnal shop with a friendly redheaded girl working the counter—a Black would never work in a place so _happy_ and _inviting._

Three weeks later, Lily shoves him into the back without so much as a by-your-leave, and he cheerfully goes along with it until he realizes that she _hasn't_ realized that it's not Bella but Andy and he definitely has time for Andy.

And then suddenly Andy and Lily are best friends—apparently it's as simple as complimenting each other's eyeliner—and Lily starts effusively praising someone named Ted. Regulus feels the faintest flicker of jealously, but when she finally brings him by it's suspiciously at the same time Andy always comes in for her coffee, and Lily fixes them both raspberry white chocolate mochas and smirks at Reg when he raises his eyebrows, because he knows she thinks raspberry white chocolate mochas are "love coffee," whatever the hell that means.

Later Lily offers vanilla steamers and hugs and apologies as Andy shakes and cries because her parents don't approve of Ted, because he isn't Anglo-Saxon and doesn't have an English accent and didn't grow up in the wealthiest 1% of Britain. Andy accepts the hugs and the steamer, but refuses the apologies, because _it's not your fault, Lily, they're all just awful, I can't believe they still care about this kind of thing_ , and then she sets her chin and downs the steamer and storms out, cloaked in stubborn determination. A week later Regulus and Lily close the shop and go down to the courthouse to witness the marriage of Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks. Reg tucks an orange blossom behind Andy's ear, because even though this is a secret wedding the Blacks are nothing if not traditional.

Two weeks after that, Regulus and Lily close the shop again, and he goes to her tiny house and they get roaring drunk because Petunia is getting married today and Lily is not invited, and even though Lily tries to hide it Reg knows she's upset. Later Andy and Ted come by with Chinese takeout, and then Marlene and Mary and Alice bring chocolate and cupcakes and the cookies that taste like powder and have too much icing that they all inexplicably love, and they binge and watch stupid movies, and when everyone goes home Lily cries all over Reg, and he strokes her hair and rubs her back until she's let it all out. In the morning they brew the strongest coffee they can, because they are _so_ hungover, and they eat leftover Chinese and go into work late.

Two months later, on Christmas Eve—her favorite day of the year—he slides her a latte right after she flips the sign to "closed."

She raises her eyebrows, takes a sip. He watches as a blush starts along her cheeks, turning darker and darker and he waits for her to say something, _anything_.

He's about to apologize for his presumption when she kisses him, and he can taste the raspberry white chocolate mocha on her lips.


End file.
